


Dripping Crimson Like the Setting Sun

by jeleania



Series: Whumptober 2020 [5]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Blood and Injury, Gen, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse and Neglect, Lucis Caelum are Dragons, Sunshine Boy Prompto Argentum, Terrorist bombing, Trail of Blood, Whumptober 2020, no beta we die like men, reference to past torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-10
Updated: 2020-10-10
Packaged: 2021-03-08 00:20:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,099
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26886520
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jeleania/pseuds/jeleania
Summary: Noctis had to find Ignis before the enemy did.
Relationships: Gladiolus Amicitia & Prompto Argentum & Noctis Lucis Caelum & Ignis Scientia
Series: Whumptober 2020 [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1936261
Comments: 1
Kudos: 24





	Dripping Crimson Like the Setting Sun

**Author's Note:**

> No 10.  
> Blood Loss | Internal Bleeding | Trail of Blood

* * *

Ignis blinked hard, trying to clear his vision. One hand reached up - perhaps there was something on his glasses. His balance failed him and he staggered a few steps sideways. A hard solid surface was nice enough to be there, his right shoulder bumping into the - it was a wall. He squinted at the wall - brick, dull pale red bricks, rough and worn. He patted the wall, it was a good wall.

By the Six, his head hurt.

Leaning heavier against the wall, he had his hand retry its journey to his head. His fingers found his right cheek, swept up over his eyes - where were his glasses? No wonder everything was a little blurry. Noctis liked his glasses, called him Specs because of them. They were good glasses. - and skimmed his forehead. His hair felt dirty, gritty and sticky like sand had mixed into his hair gel. He tried to finger comb it, tried to get some of the mess out -

“Fuck,” the sixteen year old hissed as he touched the right side of his head. Baffled, he pulled his fingers out of his hair and looked at them. Red stained the tips.

When had he hit his head?

Staring down at his right hand, Ignis tried to make his brain work. He remembered leaving Noctis’s new apartment with his Prince. They took the train to the mall. And then...

He couldn’t quite remember. Just a jumbled mess of loud noises and running and pain and losing -

Where was Noctis?

Ignis opened his eyes - when had he closed his eyes? - and looked around for Noctis. 

He was leaning against a wall, the good wall. There was another wall across from him. There was a nondescript door a few meters away, it was like the side exits to the citadel, discreet and plain and maybe alarmed. The door had a step where someone could sit or trip like Gladiolus often did lately, Cor said Gladdy was growing taller faster than his legs could keep up. Next to the step were a few boxes, sturdy and varying heights, some hip tall and some knee tall. They would make good seats or tables - there was a soda can sitting on one makeshift table as if someone had forgotten it when they had hurried back into the building. He looked the other way but there was nothing interesting, just more wall.

There was no Noctis.

His stomach flopped uncomfortably, making him swallow hard. He shivered, oddly cold even though the sun was shining too bright overhead. 

He needed to find Noctis. It was important. Important because Noctis was important. Noctis was the Prince, was his Prince, linked by Vows and Bond and magic. But Noctis was also important because he was Ignis’s friend. His Prince was his friend, a real friend, and Noctis was nice even though sometimes he was a brat. Or at least he pretended to be a brat. 

He had to talk to Gladdy. The Shield kept calling Noctis a brat. That wasn’t proper Retinue behavior. 

Pain flared in his mid back, making Ignis suck in a sudden breath in surprise. He rolled to the left only to find more pain in his arm. He staggered a step to the right, just enough to alleviate the pressure of the bricks on his flesh. Once he could think past the pain, he glowered at the wall. It wasn’t a nice wall anymore.

There was something dark on the wall now. 

Curious, he touched the pale brick again.

When he lifted his hand away, there were dark spots on the brick.

He stared at them. Repeated the action on a different area of wall.

How odd. 

After several more dark patches decorated the wall, the thought came to his mind that maybe he should look at his left hand.

The dark came from his hand. No, that wasn’t quite right. It came from his left arm, from under the cloth wrapped around his bicep, the dark dripping down his skin to his hand like wine. The red wine that his uncle liked to drink a glass of at night. He was thirsty, maybe he should drink some -

When he lifted his hand to his face, Ignis scrunched his nose. That didn’t smell like wine, sharp or fruity. It smelled like copper, like the buttons on his least favorite waistcoat, the fabric too - too - he couldn’t remember the word. But Noctis didn’t like it either, the fabric, said it made his skin itch when he gave Ignis a hug so he would try not to touch him at all when he was wearing it. And if the waistcoat hurt Noctis, then it wasn’t allowed.

He had to find Noctis. 

He carefully turned back in the direction of the door. The ground was wobbly under his feet. It felt like he was walking on pillows, like the time years ago when he and Noctis had taken all the pillows they could find and made a bed of them across the prince’s bedroom floor. There had been a lot of pillows, they had borrowed them from guest quarters and linen closets. They had stuffed Noctis’s armory full of pillows while sneaking around to find them all. The King had come in and laughed to find all the pillows and laid down with them on the pillowland and told them stories. It had been a good day, had helped Noctis forget that he was still relearning how to walk, that he had needed to use a wheelchair when they had hunted down all the pillows. 

He looked down at the ground. There were no pillows. Just dirty concrete. It would hurt if he fell down. 

Ignis reached out and rested a hand on the maybe-good wall. It had kept him from falling earlier. He would give it another chance.

He had to find Noctis.

* * *

Peering from under his hood, Noctis tried to act natural. Just another teenager walking the streets of Insomnia in the fading afternoon. Well, he was limping but his back and hip and left knee were acting up after the day’s excitement. The hoodie he had ‘borrowed’ from someone’s clothes line was too big, but it helped disguise him. It hung to mid-thigh, the sleeves past his fingertips. But it didn’t have any logos, the color a dull blue, and he was hardly the only teenager to wear something oversized - it was a bit of a fashion trend.

The hoodie hid the blood on his shirt. The limited edition King’s Knight merch that Gladio had bought him was probably ruined with the bloodstains. Not even Specs with his laundry magic would be able to get those out. Underneath the shirt’s ripped fabric, bandages were wrapped around his torso. There was still shrapnel in the wounds littering his right side, he could feel them shift when he breathed too harshly. It had been too risky to remove them on site - there had been too little time and too little medical experience. Ignis had just packed them with gauze and covered them and said they would need to be treated properly when they got safely home.

At least Noctis had remembered to restock the first aid supply section of his armory. After the time he and Gladio had been abducted a year ago, after his Shield had been tortured by terrorists and Noctis had gotten them out, he had made a point of keeping his armory well stocked. He had plenty of medical supplies in there though he had been convinced to not include the defibrillator or oxygen tank until he got proper training on how to use them. Food, spare clothes, various tools for survival in case he got stranded, and weapons, so many weapons. 

They had put a decent dent in the bandages section. Both of them had been injured. They had chosen not to use any of the curatives - the potions and elixirs had a general healing effect that couldn’t be focused down to just one injury. Which meant the shrapnel in both of them from being too close to a few explosions would have been sealed inside them, just causing more damage with internal bleeding. Noctis picked at the skin of his fingers, the hands hidden in the deep front pocket of the hoodie. He had washed them thoroughly but he could still feel Ignis’s blood on the digits. His friend and Advisor had his own bleeding wounds which Noctis had bandaged as the citadel nurses had taught him. 

Then another explosion had gone off. Another bomb set by the Rex Diripio terrorist group. They had hurried from the corner of the mall’s food court that had played makeshift med station. A crowd of fleeing civilians had swept around them, Specs’ grip on his elbow torn away by the jostling people. In the chaos of panicking Insomnians and the smoke from the burning shops and the shuddering of the three-story building as support pillars were destroyed, he had lost sight of Ignis. 

When he had stumbled with the crowd into the afternoon sunlight, Noctis had broken away from them as fast as his legs could carry him. He had darted into an alley, evading those kind pedestrians and city security officers reaching out to aid the scared injured men and women. Perhaps they had meant well. Noctis hadn’t stopped to find out, too overstimulated by the turmoil of all the frightened people that his magic could feel around him. This ability of sensing his surroundings with his magic had saved them, the _resolve-glee-hungerforblood_ of the suicide bomber giving the precious seconds to pull Ignis behind some cover of planters before the madman had exploded himself in the middle of a crowd. It had let them dodge around other terrorists wearing casual clothes and the bloodied crown badge of Rex Diripio who were firing bullets into the mall’s shoppers. But the empathic impressions were jarring and overwhelming when so many people were so terrified.

He had been nearly three blocks away, thoroughly lost in backstreets, when Noctis had come back to his senses.

One stolen hoodie and two panic attacks and several wrong turns through a maze of narrow passageways later, Noctis laid eyes on the mall again.

Dark smoke was rising from several points of the building. Flames were visible through the large window overlooking the southern entrance, most of the glass missing from the opening. The east wing of the mall was mostly rubble, part of the outer wall crumbled to the asphalt of the parking lot. The west wing looked to be intact from his view outside but he remembered hearing explosions from that direction so the outer appearance could be deceiving. The area was bustling with ambulances and city security and distressed people and gawkers watching the somewhat organized chaos. 

Easing his way among the lookie-loos, Noctis eavesdropped shamelessly on both city security and the observing civilians. Draconic hearing was sharper than human ears - he had listened in on so many whispered conversations in court from across the room. By the sounds of it, no one had yet realized that the crown prince and a member of his Retinue had been among the day’s mall shoppers. The number of injured and dead were still being counted as rescue efforts were delving into the damaged building with care for unstable structure. 

Several members of the Rex Diripio group seen in the mall assault were still unaccounted for. There were orders to be on the lookout for their distinctive badge in case there was a second attack planned. If the terrorists found Noctis, then not only he but anyone around him would be in danger.

Wailing cries and _denial-grief-whywhywhy_ had him flinching. Looking between two murmuring watchers, Noctis saw a woman kneeling on the street behind the sawhorse barrier. A covered body was before her, one of several waiting for the next mortuary van. She clung to the corpse’s left hand even as she rocked and keened. Noctis pulled his magic closer to himself, shrinking the radius to a little less than two meters. His soul felt rubbed raw - he had been trying to use this ability more, to acclimate himself to sensing others around him. Sometimes it just felt like too much effort for too little reward. 

Stepping free of the crowd, Noctis leaned back against a storefront wall. Closing his eyes, he looked inward. Unlike his dad, he had only a handful of Bonds spun from his magic and soul. He took a few seconds to press _reassurance-determination-love_ onto the familial tie to Dad. Some of his pain was probably leaking through his careful barriers and the man might have learned of the day’s planned trip to the mall from someone by now. He wished he could call or text him but his cell phone was dead in his pocket, the screen shattered and the device refused to turn on when he last tried it. He had spare chargers in the armory but one spare phone was in his backpack in his apartment and the second had yet to be replaced after it was soaked in the river incident from his and Gladio’s camping trip last weekend.

There was the Bond to Gladio - his Shield had been busy today helping Iris with some scheme the nine year old girl had come up with. Something about one-upping other kids in her class who said something mean. Iris had refused to tell Noctis what they had said to make the girl so mad but Gladio knew. His Shield had to know given he was practically cackling and radiating _righteous-annoyance-vengeance-glee_ since Iris had pulled him into her planning.

The Bond with Luna looked the weakest, feeling like delicate lace like from some of her dresses. But it had held firm and fierce ever since they had whispered promises to each other late one night during his healing in Tenebrae. Between that deceptively frail-looking cord and the journal Umbra and Pyna carried back and forth, Noctis knew his Oracle and friend was still alright. One day he would see her again, maybe even march into Tenebrae to free the region like his royal ancestors had done. 

His Bond with Cor was almost as old as the Bond with Dad. It was an odd mix of familial and promise. Cor had guarded him and watched over him since the day he was born. The man had taught him his numbers and comforted little hurts and guided him through the first basic kata with a practice sword. Officially, Cor was his Godfather. Noctis was pretty sure that stepfather was the right term but both Cor and Dad dodged the questions when he asked them. He thought they were a bit silly about it - same-sex relationships and marriage were legal in Lucis even for the royal family. From the stories he had been told of Mom, she would want them happy even if it meant Dad loving someone after her. Noctis was crown prince so they didn’t have to worry about making an heir to the throne. Even Uncle Clarus had rolled his eyes about the two men but had patted Noctis on the head saying the idiots had been doing this dance since before he was born, they would have to figure things out in their own time. Noctis hoped he wouldn’t be like that when he found his own Mate when he got older.

Finally, there was the Bond with Ignis. It was older than Gladio’s Bond, a deeper friendship allowing a strong rope between them. Things were becoming better with his Shield spending more not-training time with him lately but his Advisor had been his first friend. Ever since Dad and Specs’s uncle Ventus had introduced them, Ignis had been by his side more often than not. Homework assignments, pranks, exploring the citadel - they did a lot of things together. Now he focused on that Bond, the not-melody that was discordant with _pain-confusion-determination_. 

It didn’t point toward the mall so at least his friend wasn’t trapped in there. As he slowly walked the sidewalks, only half his attention on dodging pedestrians, he concluded that Ignis wasn’t in the parking lot. Instead the Bond stretched Northwest. So either the older teen had been taken to a medical center or he was out on the streets somewhere. He doubted that Ignis had gotten to the citadel - if he had, then there would be Crownsguard swarming the mall and the city security would be looking for Noctis as much as they were for the terrorists.

At the edge of the commotion surrounding the ravaged mall, Noctis paused. He looked back at the battered building, the sprawl of people, the curious witnesses. He could go up to someone and borrow a phone. There were dozens of city security officers and patrolers that could help him get home. A proper search could be sent out for his missing Advisor. 

A moment’s thought, then he shook his head slightly. The city security forces were busy bringing order to all the injured and frightened and probably trying to keep anyone from looting the mall. The Crownsguard were no doubt doubling the guard around the citadel and Dad with terrorists making such a bold move in the crown city. He didn’t want to pull any of them from helping people just to search for one person. A person that Noctis would be able to find easier given the Bond he could follow. Once he found Ignis, they would call for the Crownsguard for a ride back to the citadel or transfer his friend to the royal doctors’ care. 

Noctis walked away. He had to find Ignis.

* * *

Gladiolus stretched his arms over his head, grunting in satisfaction when his back popped. With a sigh, he relaxed and lowered his arms. He looked at his little sister, Iris still bent over the table as he had been a moment ago. The dining room table of the Amicitia home was littered with papers and writing utensils, two laptop computers and a tablet among the mess. The scribbles of the day’s plotting stared up at him from the pages, some areas crossed out and others circled or underlined. Perhaps all of it was silly and juvenile, but it was also fun and a certain level of vindictive. 

After all, the core of the plans was revenge on people mocking his Prince.

Iris had come home with a split lip yesterday. While Gladiolus had been angry, the nine year old girl had been furious. She had caught several other students at her school insulting Noctis. There had been a paparazzi video recently that caught a glimpse of Noctis shirtless after swimming at Galdin Quay. It had been a rare relaxing trip for King and Prince with both Shields and several Crownsguard in company. The video had gotten a look at some of the marilith scars slashed across the Prince’s back and left leg. There had been a storm of scorn and mockery, students in Noct’s school heckling him for his limp and so called ugly blemishes, talk shows and nobles wondering if he was fit to be their future ruler. Noctis had worn an aloof mask and shot back sarcastic barbs but behind closed doors, those closest to him knew how much the words hurt him.

Helping his little sister plan out pranks in retaliation for some cruel words did little in the grand scheme of things. But it made him feel a bit better.

Patting the girl on the back, Gladiolus said, “Let’s wrap it up, flower sprout. We need to make dinner.”

Iris absently waved a hand, ignoring the nickname. “Just a few more things.”

Starting at the far end of the table, he started stacking papers. “This isn’t court politics, Iris. What we got is enough.”

Brown eyes flashing, Iris abandoned her notebook to glower at her brother. “They’re damn lucky it’s not court. We’d cut them to ribbons if it was.”

“Hey,” barked Gladiolus, pointed a pink highlighter at her. “Swear jar.”

With an annoyed huff, the youngest Amicitia shoved out of her chair, stomped to the clear glass jar sitting on the breakfast bar dividing the dining room from the kitchen, and shoved a whole five gil piece into it to join the other coins and bills. She turned back to scowl at the table, eyes flashing with fury as she spat, “Those bitches have no right saying that kind of garula shit about Noct. They don’t know him at all. Who fucking cares if he’s got some scars and a limp, he’s still strong and brave and kind and he’ll make a damn amazing king one day.”

“Spoken like a true Amicitia.” Gladiolus nodded solemnly. “And I completely agree. But let’s not go overboard on the revenge thing.”

Iris just gave him a Look, arms crossed and one eyebrow raised. 

Putting down the papers he’d still be gathering, the Shield lifted a hand while the other rested over his heart. “Hey, complex revenge plots that ruin a person’s reputation and livelihood are more Iggy’s thing. I just punch them.” Seeing the speculative gleam in his baby sister’s eyes, Gladiolus sighed. “We can run these by him tomorrow. Now help me clean up, bratlet, half of this is your mess.”

“Don’t call me that, jerk,” grumbled Iris but she started sticking pens into their designated mug.

The planning debris was tidied into a neat stack of paperwork. The laptops and tablet were plugged in to charge on a side table. The various writing utensils were returned to their mugs or drawers or backpacks. Gladiolus started opening cabinets, trying to decide what to cook for dinner, while Iris wandered into the next room to turn on the television for background noise.

“Gladdy, Gladdy, come look at this!”

Putting the box of shell pasta on the counter, Gladiolus strode to his sister.

Iris was standing with the remote control still in hand. The large screen television was showing what looked like a scene from a disaster movie. Fire and smoke, a large building half turned to rubble, ambulances and shell-shocked people. A reporter was talking as she gestured at the mess behind her, a split screen rolling through other shots of the havoc. A rolling banner at the bottom of the television screen read ‘Terrorist attack on AzureStella Mall, dozens dead’.

“Shit,” hissed Gladiolus. He scrambled for his phone, it wasn’t in his pocket, where did he - He darted into the dining room, finding the device charging next to his laptop. Yanking it free of the cord, he pulled up his contacts as he hurried back to the other room. Ignoring his sister’s wide-eyed confused look, he found the right contact and hit dial.

The call went straight to voicemail.

Another contact, another call that wasn’t answered.

A third contact. This time the phone rang. When a small arm wrapped around his hips, Gladiolus absently curled his free arm around his little sister’s shoulders. His heart was pounding in his chest as he waited for someone to pick up.

“Gladiolus?” Dad finally answered. “Is this urgent?”

“Does anyone have eyes on Noct?” he snapped.

“Not at the moment,” was the wary reply. “I’m sure he’s -”

“Noct and Iggy were going to the mall today,” interrupted Gladiolus, staring at the smoking ruin on the television. His prince and friend could be in there, trapped under rubble, slowly dying while he concocted silly tricks against school kids. “Something about Noct looking for - I don’t know, a camera or a lens or something for his new friend. But it was AzureStella Mall. Iggy said they had two different camera shops there.”

“Have you tried to reach him?” The sharp words were no longer his Dad but the King’s Shield.

“I tried their phones.” What if the last thing he said to Noctis was ‘maybe next time’ ? What if his final words to Ignis were a teasing ‘don’t overdo it on the cooking supplies’ ? He should have gone with them, but Noctis encouraged him to spend time with Iris today and Iggy said he had things well in hand. He still felt sick to his stomach with nerves and guilt. “Straight to voicemail. Think they’re turned off. What if they’re -”

“The Bond, Gladiolus.” The older Shield’s words cut through his spinning thoughts. “Check the Bond.”

Gladiolus sucked in a startled breath, muttered “I’m an idiot”, then closed his eyes. He dove inward, desperate and scared to hope. 

Noctis’s magic was there. It was still there. The Bond hummed like a live wire, fierce and present and “still alive.” 

“Good.” Dad sounded far away, his voice an anchor. “What can you sense from him?”

Reaching out to the rope linking him to his Prince, Gladiolus tried to understand the mess of emotions he was picking up. There was _pain-sharp-hurtshurts_ , different than the ever present quiet ache of Noct’s chronic pain. There was _fear-hurry-wherewhere_ and _worry-determined-needtofindhim_ and _tired-cold-dread-can’tstop_ and other emotions and flickers of thought that were too fast or too disjointed to make sense of in the storm. 

Opening his eyes, Gladiolus carefully picked his words. “He’s hurt, definitely in more pain than usual. I think he got separated from Iggy, he’s looking for someone. He’s not going to stop until he finds them.”

He heard his dad inhale slowly. Gladiolus didn’t mind, he could use a few seconds to settle his own rattled nerves. Then the King’s Shield was back, snapping orders. “I’ll mobilize the Crownsguard. I want you to go look for him, try to track him through the Bond. Cor will do the same from another angle. Hopefully one of you can find him soon. Go armed and stay alert, the terrorists are still out there.”

“Got it,” Gladiolus hustled upstairs and into his bedroom. He had weapons in the armory, he just needed his hiking boots and a jacket, maybe some extra clothes in case Noctis or Ignis needed them. Pawing through his closet, he absently asked, “Which group is it?”

There was only the sound of breathing on the line.

Two hooded sweaters in hand, he paused to verbally prod, “Dad?”

“It’s Rex Diripio.”

Phantom pain flickered like lightning across his back. Under the ink of his wings tattoo lay dozens of scars. A year ago, a bald monster in a three-piece suit had carved up his flesh while Gladiolus had been strung up like a slab of meat. His Prince had slaughtered the members of Rex Diripio, a furious Dragon of his ancient bloodline raging over harm to His Horde, getting both of them free from their captors. Intellectually, Gladiolus had known that the terrorist group worked in cells, that killing one cell didn’t stop the others. 

The fact they were out there sent unease skittering down his spine and dread tensing his muscles. 

“Gladdy, take this.” 

Iris’s voice broke through his staredown into memory. He turned, Dad’s voice a soothing rumble in his ear, to find his little sister striding into his room. She had a moggle-shaped backpack in one hand and was determinedly shoving a bottle of rubbing alcohol into the well stuffed bag. Iris yanked the zipper closed and held the bulging knapsack toward him, eyes worried but expression resolute. “Just in case.”

Tossing the sweaters into the armory, Gladiolus snagged his sister’s outstretched arm and pulled her into a hug. Her arms were thin but strong as they squeezed him tight. Rubbing her back, he gratefully murmured, “Thanks, Iris. Thanks, Dad.”

“Of course, son,” Dad replied into his ear. “Take care. We’ll find them and bring them home.”

“Yeah, we will,” Gladiolus replied firmly. “I’ll text you updates.”

Disconnecting the call, he shoved his phone into his pants pocket. Iris had gotten the hint, stepping back and scrubbing her wet eyes with a forearm. He quickly shrugged into a jacket and shoved his socked feet into well-broken-in boots. The backpack was slung over his shoulder and Iris got another quick hug before the Amicitia siblings walked down to the front door. 

The sky was orange and red with the last rays of the sun. High above, the Wall glinted like a very strong soap bubble. The chill of a late autumn evening made him grateful for his jacket. He gave a wave to Iris who watched him walk away from the top of the porch steps.

Last time, Noctis had found him, freed them both out of hell, guided them to safety and aid. 

Now it was Gladiolus’s turn.

* * *

Prompto stepped off the subway and drifted along with the rush of other disembarking passengers. He felt adrift and fragile like an autumn leaf, tossed along by the wind and so easy to crumble to dust. His gray hoodie was speckled with dirt and ash, the hood up over his head to block out some of the world. His fingers were clenched tight around his camera, the long strap looped twice around his right wrist over his habitual wristband. 

It was the camera that had led him into the attack.

He had gone to the mall that day to look at the camera lens and filters and accessories. They were far too expensive - he was on a shoestring budget, praying his traveling parents would remember to send back more money. But he could look at them through the glass case, could dream of the shots he would take with the equipment, could wish that maybe one day he could indulge in just one of those professional pieces. Since he was in the mall, he had decided to buy a big soft pretzel, just as a little treat. His new friend had insisted on sharing lunch with him yesterday so he had a few gil to spare. 

He had been debating over a regular salted or a pepper and cheese pretzel when the explosions had started.

The sound had been deafening, echoing through the large building. It had come from all around, at least three window-rattling booms gone off near simultaneously. Before the sound could fade, there had been screaming and sharp bangs like firecrackers.

Like gunfire.

Prompto had looked down from the railing of the third floor in morbid curiosity. From his angle, he had a view of part of the second level. It had been instinct that had him lifting his camera and snapping a shot of a man holding a gun with at least three bodies splayed out around him. When another bomb went off on the ground floor far below, taking out most of a support pillar, his flinching fingers had swung the camera and taken several quick photos of the explosion. 

Then his common sense kicked in, saying that maybe he should get out of the building.

The elevator was a panic attack waiting to happen on a good day. As stressed as he was, Prompto had opted to run for the nearest escalator instead. 

The third floor had been largely untouched by the violence. The second story wasn’t so lucky. It had been a harrowing trip, darting from planter to table to pillar in a half-crouch. More than once, he had run past bodies in pools of red, winced from the heat of fires in shops, or skirted around new holes to the story below. He had seen the terrorists - because what else could they be? - stalking the mall, looking for more innocents to shoot. 

His twitching fingers kept lifting the camera, kept taking photos of the damage, the terrorists, even a few of the bodies.

He read about the importance of documenting the horrors of war and the devastation of natural disasters. He just never thought it would be his camera that would immortalize such events. He dreaded looking at the new photos. 

The first floor had been even worse. Almost abandoned save the occasional desperate herd of terrified shoppers fleeing for the outside world. His throat hurt from the smoke that had filled the ground floor. His knees and shins ached from tripping over debris in the reduced visibility. His left hand throbbed where he had struck the very startled terrorist in the throat when Prompto had bumped into the man circling around a still intact pillar. 

He was pretty sure he got a picture of the guy before Prompto had run like fire-breathing cerberi were on his tail.

Somehow, he had stumbled out of the wrecked mall. Paramedics had looked him over and deemed him free to go home. A pair of city security patrol had taken note of his identification card, saying they would be in touch in the next few days to get a statement. One had slipped a card into his pocket, saying it was for a low-cost therapy center in case he needed to talk to anyone about what happened.

Prompto flinched at the loud blare of a car horn. Blinking rapidly and jolted from his daze, he glanced around. The flow of the crowd had pulled him out of the subway station and onto the sidewalk. The sky above was dark but the streets were still busy so it must not be super late. He took a few stumbling steps to the left and stopped in the mouth of an alleyway. Looking out into the bustling street and buildings, he realized he didn’t have a damn clue where he was aside from still in Insomnia. 

That was just great. 

A clatter of metal had him jumping in fright. Whirling around to look deeper into the back alley, he spared a second’s thankful prayer for his especially keen night vision. In the murky darkness several meters away, his purple-blue eyes spotted a knocked over trashcan, the metal lid resting among the filth. A person in a too-large hooded sweater slowly picked themself up from the mess of strewn garbage. They got to their feet and limped away, crossing the intersection of passageways between buildings. 

Prompto didn’t know why but his feet carried him to the spot where the person had fallen.

There was blood on the ground.

It wasn’t much, drips and drops of red. When he looked to his right, down the alley the person had come, his keen eyes spotted more red. The trail continued in the wake of the person, the drops maybe a bit more frequent. 

He hadn’t known what to do for any of the people in the mall. Had been too scared to stop and see if any had been still alive. But this was different - terrorists with guns and bombs weren’t going to shoot him or blow him up. 

This time he could try at least to help.

A quick pause to shove his camera into his satchel, the crossbody strap hidden under his hoodie. Then Prompto trotted after the limping person. They had gotten surprisingly far ahead in just the moments of his indecision. The person was just turning right into another pathway when the blond called out, “Hey, wait!”

The hooded figure jolted like a startled cat, back suddenly pressed against a building wall. One hand was held in front of their chest, fingers spread like claws. The other was in the hoodie front pocket, the fabric stretching slightly around the outline of a fist grasping something. There was an aura of threat and wariness and danger filling the air as if he had chased after a cat for a photo only to find a coeurl when he caught up to the feline. The blue gleam glaring out of the hood’s shadow didn’t lessen the feral creature image.

Freezing in place, Prompto slowly raised his hands. One nudged back his hood as he lost control of his mouth. “Hey, hi, sorry, I’m not gonna hurt you - I mean I wouldn’t hurt you. Not unless you try to hurt me first and we don’t need to do that, no sir, or no madam, no miss? No fighting here. I just - I saw you fall and I wanted to make sure if you were okay or if I -”

“Prompto?” 

His nervous babble cut off as his brain stuttered. Then it restarted and shot a name off his tongue. “Noctis?!”

It was the person’s turn to push back his hood. The teen’s black hair looked gray like he had been showered in dirt. He looked too pale even in the dark shadows of the alley with only the occasional lightbulb above building backdoors. His blue eyes were still too bright but were now blinking in surprise. “What are you doing here?”

The blond flapped a hand. “What am I - what are you - Wait! You’re hurt! You’re bleeding!”

Noctis looked down at himself in confusion. “What? Where?”

“I don’t know,” Prompto answered shrilly. “But look -” He pulled out his phone and used the flashlight feature to light up the ground. “- you’re literally leaving a trail of blood.”

“Oh.” Noctis gingerly patted his right side with a grimace. “Opps. Must have bled through the bandages.”

Prompto’s mouth worked silently.

With a little shrug, Noctis pulled his hood back up and started walking again.

Not sure what else to do, Prompto turned off the light, pulled his own hood up, and followed him.

They had walked a few meters when the blond cautiously asked, “Um, should we go find a hospital? Or call someone?”

“Not yet,” was the baffling reply. “I need to find him first.”

“Find who?” What was so important to not get medical care?

“Ignis,” answered Noctis. “We got separated in the mall. The Bond says he’s this way.”

“The mall?” Prompto shivered - it wasn’t from the cold of the night. “The one with the terrorist bombing?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh.” 

Another alley. More little splatters of blood. There was definitely more than before Noctis had fallen earlier.

“Should we find a shop for a potion?” Prompto worriedly suggested. “I’ve got some gil.”

Noctis sounded tired. “I have some. Can’t use them. There’s shrapnel. If I use a curative, it’ll just be stuck inside me. Then I’ll have internal bleeding instead of external bleeding.”

“Oh.” Feeling queasy at the thought of bits of metal sticking out of his friend’s skin, Prompto chewed his lip a moment. His hand drifted toward his satchel. “I think I have some ga -”

Suddenly, Noctis turned and pounced on the blond. Shoving them back behind a large trash bin, a hand was pressed over his mouth. Blue eyes were wide over a finger pressed on Noctis’s lips, gesturing for silence. Then the hooded head looked in the direction they had been heading.

A few heartbeats thundered past in his ears. Then Prompto heard it - voices and footsteps. They were coming from the T-intersection of alleyways a few meters ahead. 

“The fucker is bleeding like a stuck garula. How is he still moving?”

As the teens watched, a stream of light preceded four men. The first man held a flashlight, the beam pointed at the ground. He waved his free hand in the air as he answered, “You saw him take out Vin. Knives pulled out of light. He’s a Retinue member.”

Another man spat to the side before snarling, “Fucking freaks. Killing him is too merciful.”

The men passed out of sight but their voices echoed back.“Never said we have to kill him fast.” 

The footsteps finally faded from hearing. Prompto distantly noticed the other teen pull away from him, face suddenly cold without the contact. Those men were either the terrorists from the mall or some other criminal group taking advantage of the bedlam. Either way, they were hunting Noctis’s Ignis, were going to kill him if they found him. Which would hurt Noctis just because Ignis was Specs was Noctis’s friend. That was unacceptable. They had to find him first. The alleyways were too slow, too much of a maze. Plus the men were following that same route, they had to beat the men to Ignis, not trail behind them. They needed to get from point A to point B as fast as possible. They needed to outrun the men. They needed to be free of this maze of backstreets. “Free running.”

“What?” Noctis’s voice jerked Prompto out of his thoughts. The ravenet stared at him in confusion.

Trying to backtrack and explain his mind’s process, Prompto blurted out, “The alleys are a maze. We need to get above the maze. So we can get to Iggy before those guys do. If we can get to the roofs and free run -”

“Then we can find Specs first,” Noctis finished the thought for him. 

Nodding, Prompto looked at the buildings rising around them. “We need to find a fire escape or maintenance ladder or maybe just -”

“Prompto.” The serious note in his voice pulled his attention back to the ground level. Noctis had pushed his hood back again and was staring hard at the blond. Suddenly he looked less like his classmate and more like the Crown Prince of the whole country. “Thank you for your offer of help. But you don’t have to do this. Coming with me puts you straight in the path of danger. I won’t ask that of you. You can walk away now.”

Pushing his own hood back and squaring his shoulders, Prompto tried to sound as firm as he could. “I was in the mall today. I ran past people that were still moaning in pain. I didn’t help them. I should have.”

The aloof expression softened with sympathy and understanding, then firmed up again. “This is different.”

“Yeah it is.” His gut flipped and his hands trembled but his voice stayed steady. “Because this time it’s my friend who I’m helping. I might not be able to do much but I want to help however I can.”

Bright blue eyes stared into his blue-purple ones for a long moment. Then the regal Prince relaxed back into familiar Noctis and held out a hand. “We don’t need a ladder. Also, sorry ahead of time, warping can make passengers nauseous.”

Grinning with relief was probably inappropriate so he tried not to. Grasping the offered hand tight, Prompto quipped, “I’ll try to not throw up on you.”

Noctis flashed him a sharp grin. Then something intangible wrapped around Prompto, his nose filling with sea-salt and ozone. Brilliant blue flared in his vision and the world fell away.

* * *

Ignis had to move faster.

He was so tired.

Twice he had stopped to throw up. His mouth tasted of copper. His back felt too tight. When he had explored with cautious fingers, he had found gauze wrapped around his torso. 

There were several hard things sticking out of his back. 

Shrapnel. From the bombs.

Memories had dripped back into his head like paint on a canvas. Not like the portraits in the citadel’s hall of arts or the lovely pieces in the museums. It was a child’s fingerpainting - he and Noctis had done that several times. Everyone thought Cor was so stern but he had pinned a white bedsheet to the floor and let them paint all over it. Then he had hosed them down in the garden, smirking as they squealed at the chill water. Somewhere in the King’s quarters was that painted sheet - he had laughed and thanked them and said he would treasure it. It had been a mess of colors, at least a dozen different hues.

Red paint. 

Red blood.

There had been blood in the mall, splashed on walls and windows, pooled on the floor. 

Some of the red had been his, had been Noctis’s. 

There had been explosions - that was how he got the shrapnel. They had been hurrying toward the es - escu - the moving stairs. And there had been a bag on the floor. He thought it was left behind by someone scared. Noctis had thought otherwise, had yanked Ignis in the other direction. 

Noctis had been right.

At least Ignis had shielded his friend from some of the shrapnel. 

The vomiting of blood, the cold and confusion, the headache and dizziness and weakness - it wasn’t just the head wound. Ignis was pretty sure he was bleeding inside. It was just dripping and leaking inside him, pooling where it didn’t belong. Some was coming out but not enough. A balloon that was too full. He hoped he wouldn’t pop.

He should go to a hospital. Should go find help. Should go to Noctis at least.

He couldn’t put people at risk. 

Not when the terrorists were hunting him.

How they had found him, he didn’t know. Maybe it was just dumb luck on their parts. Maybe they usually used the alleys as a shortcut. Maybe one of the astrals was mad he hadn’t been praying as devoutly as when he was younger. 

Before Noctis was nearly crippled by a daemon and still bore the painful scars. Before Gladiolus came home with wounds all over his back and flinched when people came up behind him. Before his uncle died by Niflheim bullets while trying to parlay even a temporary cease-fire for a holy day.

Was it any wonder his faith was shaken?

How the terrorists found him didn’t really matter. The fact was that they had. Finding an injured person staggering in the alleyways had been too easy a target for them to pass up.

But even an injured cat still had claws.

Ignis had used his, had pulled the knives Noctis had given him, had slit and stabbed and sliced. 

Then he ran.

Now they followed him.

He didn’t know how much longer he could keep moving. 

Noctis’s magic in his veins-bones-soul had kept him alive. It encouraged his body to heal. It made him a little faster, stronger, agiler, and sturdier than a normal human. It was a Dragon’s gift to their chosen and trusted. But even with that help, he couldn’t keep going for much longer.

Ignis made another turn into another passageway. A few steps in and he stumbled to a stop. He stared, trying to understand. Slowly it sank in - there was a wall at the end. He’d gone the wrong way.

“Little rat lost in the maze, whatever will you do?” sneered a voice behind him.

His already racing heart tried to beat faster. Slowly, he turned around, swaying with fatigue. They had caught up with him. Members of Rex Diripio blocked the way out. There were more than before, he couldn’t remember how many but there were definitely more now. He also couldn’t count them, the numbers slipping out of his thoughts like oil covered olives.

He pulled his knives out of the armory. Both had been given to him by Noctis - the first when he gave his Vows to be the Advisor, the second when he renewed them in secret to be the Hand. His hands shook but he held as tight as his cold fingers would let him.

In the lore of the royal family, it was said that the death of a Retinue hurt their Lucis Caelum. It wounded them to the soul as magic came from their souls. Whispers of rumors said that Mors was so cold and cruel because his Retinue had all died before him and the pain drove him mad.

As the terrorists crept closer with their knives and guns and batons, Ignis took a few seconds to pray. He didn’t know if the astrals cared anymore about his prayers. But he still prayed that his death wouldn’t cause Noctis too much suffering, that Noctis would lean on Gladiolus and the Bonds he had left, that his Prince-friend-world wouldn’t shut away his heart and soul as Mors supposedly had to prevent experiencing such loss again.

The man in the front and center lifted a gun. It was pointed too low to kill him. They wanted him to hurt first.

Light flashed down from the heavens.

 _Fury-possessive-howdarethey-protect-mine_ made Ignis relax despite himself. His head spun and his knees wobbled. He let his eyes close - he wasn’t safe yet but he didn’t have to fight.

Noctis was here.

Hands caught his shoulders. They tugged him back, guiding him to sink against a wall. Ignis dragged his eyelids upwards, blinking to see -

The person standing half in front of him wasn’t Noctis.

They - he maybe? - was about the same size. Their hair was fair, lighter than his own dirty blond. Their face was pinched with worry in the occasional flare of light from warps or fire or lightning. But who were they?

The blond person glanced at Ignis, tried to smile. “I’m Prompto. I came with Noct. We’re friends from school.”

He knew that name. It took a long moment - blond Prompto kept switching his attention from Ignis to the noises outside the dead end - but Ignis remembered. “Oh, you’re the one Noct bought the thing for. The - the camera thing. The - um - I don’t recall the word. But he bought you the camera thing.”

Prompto sputtered. “Wait, what?”

“Hm, yes.” New person’s identity mentally noted, Ignis let his gaze drift to his friend. “Noctis buys little things for the people he cares about.”

Above him, the blond warbled something but Ignis couldn’t make sense of the sounds. Instead he watched his Prince. He was dancing among his enemies, blades and claws and their own weapons used against them. Already several of the enemies were on the ground, dead dying or unconscious. It was a beautiful sight to behold.

But something was off about it.

“Yeah,” the blonde’s voice was soft and anxious. “He’s hurt.”

He remembered gauze in his hands, wrapping it around a slim torso, covering old scars and new wounds.

“Bomb in the mall,” Ignis stated.

The hand still on his shoulder tightened.

In a heartbeat, the fight shifted.

One terrorist got a solid hit, staggering Noctis back a few steps. Another stepped forward to take advantage. Noctis regained balance and control but there was a thread of desperation to his movements, knowing that time and strength were running out.

As his Prince tore out one man’s throat, another swung a baton at his right side.

Noctis crashed to the ground with a scream.

* * *

The pound of his boots on the pavement matched the thud-thud of his heart. Gladiolus was grateful for all his morning runs. They had helped him build a map of the city and prepared him for the steady jog of the past hour or so. The Bond thrummed in his head-heart-soul. He had figured out a half-trance. It was enough to dodge pedestrians and not run into oncoming traffic but still keep track of the rope of power leading him to his Prince. 

“Status,” came the command in his ear.

Raising his voice just enough to be heard on the hands-free device linked to his phone, the teenaged Shield answered, “Getting closer. He’s moving in a fairly straight line now.”

“Cor reports similar,” commented Dad. “We caught another cell. They were in a train station.”

“More bombs?” He grunted, ignoring the startled glance of the couple he stepped around. 

“Looks like it’s their theme for the season.” The King’s Shield grumbled. “Hopefully we can find them all.”

“That would be nice.” Gladiolus slowed to a stationary jog at a stoplight.

While Cor and Gladiolus had been tracking the missing Prince as best they could, the Crownsguard had been busy. The soldiers who protected the royal line and citadel had discreetly joined the city’s peacekeepers. While some aided the continuing investigation of the mall, others worked alongside the city security force to quietly hunt for the missing terrorists. If those searching for the badges of bleeding crowns were also looking for a certain black-haired teenager as well, then it was just successful multitasking. 

Dad was coordinating the whole orchestra while practically sitting on the King. Said King was not happy to be in a safe room yet again while his son was missing with hostiles in the area. Gladiolus did not envy his father the task.

Part of him wondered if Noctis would be just as snarly when he was a father and his children were inevitably in danger from scumbags hungry for power and blood. 

With his luck, Noctis would be worse.

Gladiolus would have to ask Dad for tips and take copious notes.

As vehicles sped past him, he shifted more focus to the Bond. The emotions had been fairly level during their search, a steady _determined-worry-pain_ with only little spikes. There had been an odd jumble a few minutes ago of _surprise-confusion-amusement-wonder_ that baffled both him and the Marshall. Then it had shifted back to a stronger state of _fear-resolve-hurts_ with _hope-gratitude_ strangely tinging it. 

The young Shield was holding onto that hope with both hands.

A wave of _fury-possessive-howdarethey-protect-mine_ made Gladiolus whisper a startled “Bahamut’s blades” and grab the nearby traffic signal pole to stay on his feet. 

It was the long hazy walk out of the warehouse all over again. It was everything above his waist throbbing in pain but knowing that he was safe. It was being wrapped in the protective rage of his Dragon of a Prince as Noctis incinerated their enemies in their path.

 _Pain-alarm_ flared in the pulsing wrath, causing Gladiolus to open eyes he hadn’t noticed closing. He lifted his head and dashed across the street. Car horns blared and a set of tires squealed but he didn’t care. Not when the Bond was vibrating erratically with increasing desperation. Pedestrians scattered before him as he reached the other side of the road and sprinted into an alleyway.

His heart was in his throat when the Bond flared with agony and a scream echoed on the building walls.

A left turn and he saw them.

There were two small fires, one fuel source looking suspiciously like a body. It was enough light to see the tableau at the intersection of passageways. At least eight bodies were scattered on the ground. Glimmers of melting ice and dark Lichtenberg marks were on the walls. A single man loomed over a figure on the ground. Said figure was trying to get up but their arms were shaking and their face too pale. 

That figure was Noctis.

The man lifted a pistol, aiming for his Prince. A voice drifted to his ears - “Too bad we can’t draw this out, your highness. Say hello to your grandfather for us.” - as he tried to make his legs move faster damnit. He wasn’t going to get there in time.

The sharp crack of gunfire rang out.

The man jerked back and collapsed to the ground.

Gladiolus skidded to a halt just outside the intersection. He stared down at the gunman in confusion. There was a hole in his forehead, a perfect headshot.

What the fuck?

“Nice shot, Prom,” Noctis gasped, sagging back down to the ground. “Now don’t shoot Gladio okay? I’m finally getting him to like me, I don’t want to train a new Shield, too much work.”

“O-okay,” said a shaky voice that couldn’t be older than his Prince. A pause, then it added, “Um, I have the gun pointed at the ground now.”

Making sure to move slowly, the teen Shield eased his way over the nearest few maybe unconscious people. In a dead end stood a blond teenage boy in a large grey hoodie. His eyes were huge in a pale face but his hands on the pistol were steady. Less than a meter in front of him was a very dead terrorist, his head almost cut off, hopefully the original owner of the gun. Sitting on the ground, only upright because he was leaning on a wall, was Ignis.

“That was a very good shot,” mumbled Ignis. 

Blondie chuckled before visibly swallowing hysterical laughter. “Thanks, Iggy. First time outside of a video game.”

Green eyes blinked with the same incredulity Gladiolus felt. “I - I don’t know what to say to that.”

“I’m keeping him.” Noctis announced, one hand raising into the air before flopping back down. “Prom, can I keep you? I want to keep you.”

He knew the look in Blondie’s eyes as he helplessly smiled and answered, “Sure, Noct.”

It was the same look Gladiolus had seen looking at Ignis, had seen in the mirror in the past year. It was wonder and fondness and loyalty and swearing he would not take this gift for granted. It was realizing that Noctis found him worthy and claimed him as part of his Horde and wanted him to stay. 

Looked like Noctis had found another Retinue member. 

He and Ignis would have to make sure Blondie knew what he was getting into before they exchanged even the simplest of Vows.

Huffing a small laugh, Gladiolus knelt by his Prince. “Hey there Prince Charmless.”

Noctis gave a tired smile back, eyes not quite focusing. “Hey there Knight in Shirtless Armor.”

Dad spoke up in his ear. “Medics ETA two minutes. Also, tell the kid not to shoot Cor. He’s standing right there and wants to come look over Noctis.”

With a chuckle borne of relief, Gladiolus relayed the message. 

He hadn’t been the one to save Noctis but he could still make sure his Prince got home safe.

* * *

Prompto fiddled with his camera in his lap. It had a brand new zoom lens, one of two bought for him by Noctis. He could scarcely believe it but his friend - the prince was his friend! - had shoved it into his hands. Noct had stopped the medics rolling his gurney and pulled it out of that royal pocketspace in a little flash of light and pressed it into the blond’s fingers. It was either take it so the nurses could take Noct to surgery or dither so Noct could wheedle and argue while the gurney slowly turned redder.

He had accepted the lens.

He had the feeling that Noctis wouldn’t let him return them.

Sighing, he leaned back in the chair. It was surprisingly comfortable for a waiting room chair. Then again, it was a chair in the waiting room of the citadel. His eyes scanned the room for the umpteenth time. It was cozy - several chairs, two couches, a long low table against one wall. On the table were a small water cooler with a stack of clear cups and what looked like an espresso machine like he saw at the all-night corner stores. He had been too scared to touch that machine, only taking a single glass of water. He had chosen the most worn looking chair to sit on.

He didn’t belong here.

He was just a commoner. A refugee commoner at that. Given his coloring and the faint accent that came out when he was really tired, he was pretty sure he was a Niflheim refugee. So a commoner refugee from the empire of monsters they were at war with for over a century.

What was he doing here?

_ “I’m keeping him.” Noctis announced, one hand raising into the air before flopping back down. “Prom, can I keep you? I want to keep you.” _

The memory made his face warm and his heart flutter. 

That was why he was here.

Prompto had spent years bettering himself to be Noctis’s friend. He didn’t think he was good enough, not really, not yet. But for some reason, Noctis wanted him to stay anyways. So here he was.

Plus when the alley had been swarmed with medics and Crownsguard, surrounding Noct and Iggy then sweeping them to waiting ambulances, the blonde had just been dragged along in the current. First by Noct’s Shield, then by the Lord Marshall who had stepped out of the shadows. Every time it looked like Prompto could slip off and find his way home, Noctis had groggily asked a variant of “Where’s Prom?” and would get increasingly agitated until he could see Prompto or hear his voice. Which led him here, fidgeting in a fancy waiting room, out of place but not sure if he could leave.

“He’ll be fine.”

The sudden voice made Prompto squeak in surprise. His wandering gaze dropped from the ceiling to the doorway. Into the room strode Cor Leonis the Immortal, the Lord Marshall, the King’s Sword. The man stopped at the table and pressed a button on the fancy coffee machine. While his drink was whipped up by the device, he turned to pin Prompto with a blue stare and reiterated, “Noctis will be alright.”

Fingers rubbing his camera strap, Prompto asked, “The medics said that?”

Mister - or was it Lord? - Leonis shook his head. “No, but they don’t need to. Lucis Caelums are hard to keep down. Noctis has survived far worse than this.” The man paused to claim his drink, then said, “While we’re waiting, I would like to get an official statement from you. Unless you want to wait for your parents to be called in?”

Wincing, the blonde looked away. “They’re - uh, out of town. We - we can just do it now.”

The look Sir Leonis gave him was heavy. But, thankfully, he didn’t press. 

Instead, he stepped to the door and waved in a few people. They were a legal counselor and a city security officer and a Crownsguard clerk. They all sat down around him, a little end table pulled in the middle of their little circle. A device that looked like a phone the size of a man’s palm was set on the table to record his verbal account. The legal counselor carefully explained his rights and made sure he understood before letting anyone ask him anything. The clerk was typing up everything onto a laptop.

So Prompto narrated his day starting with going into the mall. When he revealed he had photos from the event, the legal counselor stepped in again. A quick agreement was made for him to give the camera’s current memory card to the city security so they could make a copy for evidence. He was also asked to not share the photos of the explosions and bodies until he had been cleared by them which could take a few days or a few weeks depending how the case went. The legal counselor had argued in his favor, ending with the city security discouraging him from sharing the photos but legally unable to persecute him if he chose to do so. Prompto didn’t have a problem with that - he didn’t even want to look at the pictures right now, much less post anything online. It was too ugly, too fresh, too painful. Then it was back to his verbal statement, to the train ride and stumbling upon Noctis and what they overheard. There was the wild freedom of running the rooftops, Noctis warping them across the gaps between buildings. Prompto was proud that while he had gotten a bit sick to his stomach, he hadn’t puked. Then they were on the ground and he described the brief but vicious fight as best he could. Of Noctis going down when his shrapnel wound was hit, of the gun from the first terrorist Noctis killed being right there at Prompto’s feet, of not wanting his friend to die and praying that he wouldn’t miss.

He hadn’t missed.

Feeling oddly empty, Prompto finally finished his account and sank back in his chair and closed his eyes. The other adults said their platitudes and left their business cards and wandered out of the room. He barely heard any of their words, just got the impression that he wasn’t in trouble and he could call if he needed to talk to them. Only Mister Leonis was still there, having stood silent but attentive the whole time next to the drink table. Since he was there, since surely as the Lord Marshall he knew these things, Prompto gathered the courage to ask a question.

“Am I going to be in trouble? For killing that man?”

Peering up through his eyelashes, Prompto watched as Lord Leonis blinked slowly over his second coffee cup. Then the man calmly answered, “No. For two reasons. One, the man was a terrorist so was going to be executed. Two, by taking that shot, you saved the Crown Prince.”

Well, that was good. He didn’t want to go to jail or get deported or whatever punishment the courts could come up with for a teenage refugee shooting a man dead. But Prompto had to clear something up.

The man was no less intimidating now as when he’d walked in. Prompto made himself sit up and look the Immortal straight in the eye as he declared, “I didn’t do it because he was the prince. I did it because Noctis is my friend. And if I had to do it again, if it meant protecting Noctis, I would.”

Mister Leonis just stared at him for a long moment. He opened his mouth to speak -

Another voice spoke first.

“I am very grateful that you became friends with my son.”

This time, Prompto didn’t just squeak. He flailed and leapt to his feet and shouted “Your Majesty!”

King Regis Lucis Caelum walked through the doorway. He was leaning on a cane but still looked every bit the monarch of their nation. The crown was missing, there was no half-cape and the fiddly fancy bits were missing, but the ionic pinstripe suit the King favored was present. Yet he gave the blonde a gently amused smile over his gray beard and patted the air with his free hand. “Calm down, sit, you’ve had a long day.”

He took a step back toward his chair. Then fluttering his hands, needing to do something, anything, Prompto offered, “Um, I could get you some water? Or coffee? I’ll try not to break the machine, I promise. Or I could - uh - grab a better chair? Or help move a chair? Or ah um -”

“A glass of water would be nice.” The King threw him a lifeline in his embarrassing flailing. 

Thankful for the direction, Prompto left the King shifting a chair to where he liked and darted to the table. The Lord Marshall was out of the way, a glance around found him watching the room from a corner. His hands were trembling and he almost knocked over a stack of cups. A bit of water trickled onto his fingers when he held a cup under the stream of water from the dispenser, pressing on the little handle as gently as he could yet still trigger it. The cup grew cool as the water filled it, and Prompto found his racing pulse calm just a smidge. To buy time, he filled a second cup for himself, the chill of the containers easing something in his chest.

But he couldn’t loiter at the water cooler forever.

He kept his eyes low, concentrating on his footsteps as he crossed the room. It would be a horrible time to be clumsy. Shifting his fingers until only his thumb and forefinger were wrapped around the cup, Prompto managed to squeeze out of his tight throat, “Here, your Majesty, Eminence, sir.”

His eyes caught a glimpse of the legendary Ring of Lucis as the sovereign took his cup. “Thank you. Please, sit and relax.”

Sitting, that Prompto could do. Relaxing? He doubted it but he could try.

Reclaiming his seat, which was less than an arm’s length from the King’s, Prompto sipped his water and stared across the room.

His cup was almost empty when the King broke their silence.

“Prompto, thank you again for what you did for Noctis today.”

Rotating the cup in his hands, Prompto couldn’t look at the King. “I would do it again. For Noctis, I would do anything. I just - when I found him, I couldn’t walk away. I mean, I guess I could have, but I didn’t want to. Especially when I realized it was Noct.”

A hum of understanding, then the King said, “He’s lucky to have a friend like you.”

Shaking his head, Prompto argued, “No, I’m lucky to have him. I’m just - just Prompto, a commoner, a nobody, a Nif trash rat. I don’t deserve someone like him. I don’t know what I did for him to want me around but I’ll do my best to not squander his friendship. I’ll make myself worthy of him.”

He could feel the King’s gaze but didn’t dare lift his own. 

A soft rustle of fabric like the King had shifted position. Then he spoke, quiet but firm. “Prompto, let me tell you a story. When my son was seven years old, he started public school. He was scared and shy, worried that he wouldn’t make friends, that no one would like him. You see, he’d been struggling to form connections with other children in the court, only had Ignis as a close friend, had been rebuffed by Gladiolus repeatedly.”

Prompto had guessed some of that. He had realized over the years of watching that Noct was a bit of an awkward guy. Quiet and watchful, he spoke to people but didn’t actually reveal much of himself. Far as the blonde could tell, it wasn’t arrogance like some claimed but shyness. The closeness with Iggy - Prompto had learned years ago from seeing the bespectacled older boy pick up Noctis from school. They had looked happy together, Ignis with a kind smile and listening ear while Noctis lit up and chattered as he never did around the other kids. But the hinted bad history with Gladio, that was new. 

“The very first day, before he even got to the classroom, Noctis met a boy his age. The boy had glasses and a wristband, was chubby like a chocobo chick, and had hair like golden sunshine.”

Prompto frowned - that sounded like their first meeting, the one he had hoped Noct had forgotten.

“My son looked at him and knew that he wanted more than anything to be that Sunshine boy’s friend.”

Purple-blue eyes went wide.

“But before he could say anything, could try to introduce himself or even say hello, the Sunshine boy ran away. Noctis was more or less mobbed by the other children before he could follow. So he decided he would try again later.”

Prompto remembered that - the running away part. He realized he was staring at the prince like a stunned fish and became so embarrassed. So he had turned and ran, kept running until he found a closet that was never locked. The panic attack he had was only partially caused by the closed in space. The rest was from looking like such an idiot. Thankfully he had been able to slink back into the classroom before their teacher started the first lesson, everyone paying too much attention to their new royal classmate to notice the fat blonde was late.

“But later didn’t come for a long time.” The King continued. “For the next month, Noctis kept trying to approach the Sunshine boy. Each time the Sunshine boy ran away, avoided him, left the room like he was a daemon ready to eat him. But Noctis could tell that the Sunshine boy wanted to talk to him, was just too shy, too scared, too overwhelmed. So, after talking to me and Cor and Clarus, Noctis decided to give the Sunshine boy some space, to treat him like a feral stray cat, to slowly earn his trust and one day his friendship. It would take years of watching and waiting, but Noctis was determined to wait as long as it took for the Sunshine boy to approach because he was worth it.”

Prompto found himself staring at the King. Said King was lounging in his chair, gazing into the middle distance as he told his story. There was a fond look in his eyes. Nothing in his profile, his body language, his voice hinted that this was a joke or trick or lie. But it couldn’t be true either, it sounded too fanciful, it was like one of the blonde’s daydreams. 

“So Noctis waited but he was paying attention to the Sunshine boy. When he saw the boy didn’t have gloves or a scarf in winter, he left extras on his desk.”

He still had those - mittens and gloves, scarves and hats. There had been a break when they were eight, but that made sense - Noctis had been out of school that whole year. Each winter, at least one piece of winter garb had appeared on his desk with a little tag saying his name. He still had them stashed in a drawer: too small mittens with chocobo heads stitched on the backs, a hat with little orange cat ears, a scarf that had gotten mangled in the wash, and several more that didn’t fit anymore. The ones from last year - fleece lined dark brown leather gloves and a thick gray-blue scarf - were waiting in his dresser for this year’s snow season.

“When he saw the Sunshine boy didn’t bring lunch often, Noctis took Kingsglaive meal bars and healthy snacks from the kitchen and snuck them into his bag.”

That’s where those had come from! Prompto had always wondered. He could be a little forgetful and a bit rushed getting ready in the morning. But military ration bars and random treats he was sure he hadn’t bought showing up in his bag was confusing. A blessing when he had run out of food and his parents hadn’t sent more money yet, but a mystery that had clattered in the back of his head even as he ate the gifted trail mix or fresh fruit or fake chocolate meal bar or whatever else had appeared when he ducked out to the restroom. 

“When the Sunshine boy was bullied by other kids, Noctis watched and recorded and stalked them until he had enough evidence to anonymously tip off the teachers or blackmail them into stopping.”

Another mystery solved. A few of his bullies had flipped their behavior overnight, one day taunting him in the halls and wrecking his school things, the next day avoiding him to the point they fled the lunchroom when he stepped inside the space. Others had been expelled or transferred to different schools in the middle of term. He hadn’t thought too much of it, more relieved than anything else to be free of that stress. With this explanation, Prompto wondered if there was something wrong with him - all he felt was flustered and appreciated that someone cared enough to defend him.

“When the Sunshine boy was sad for several days, Noctis searched the whole Festival of Lights for the perfect chocobo plush or the marketplace for just the right pencil case or every camera store in the city for a replacement camera.”

The chocobo plush with its tiny purple cape sat next to his pillow on his bed, a gift when he was nine. It had been the third day back from winter hols, lonely from his parents extending their trip for the whole holiday season while everyone talked about all the family fun they had the past few weeks. The pencil case with its sun and star design on the lid was tucked in his backpack, a present when he was eleven. He had been so ashamed to be using a recycled corner stop sack while everyone had at least a basic kit but he hadn’t had the spare gil after buying his other supplies. The carefully maintained camera was in his lap, a gift when he had been thirteen. His parents had come home for a few days but his mother had gotten angry, had hurled it across the room to shatter on the kitchen tiles before continuing to yell at him. Those gifts had brightened his life, had affirmed that someone out there was concerned about him. That they had come from Noctis... Prompto’s face was hot and his eyesight blurred with tears.

“Then two months ago, Noctis had dinner with me. It was the first weekend into high school. He was so excited and happy and couldn’t wait until we sat down to give me the latest update on the Sunshine boy. Because finally, the Sunshine boy had approached him, introduced himself as Prompto Argentum, and said ‘Hey let’s be friends.’ Noct was so bright with joy, I hadn’t seen him like that since he was very small.” 

A hand landed atop his head, gently ruffling his blonde spikes. Prompto had his face buried in his hands, trying to hide the tears sliding down his cheeks. The touch and the voice that came with it were so kind and so unfamiliar to him that he couldn’t hold back a sob. But he strived to still hear the words, had to stifle his sniffles because they were important, listened hard since Noct’s dad wasn’t done. “Noctis has been waiting a long time for you, waiting for you to come close, to let him in. And now that you’re here, now that you’re in his grasp? He won’t let you go. He will never get tired of you. He’ll never stop wanting you by his side. Nothing will make you unworthy of him because you’ve been worthy since that day you met at seven years old. The only reason he would ever let you go is if you specifically and honestly ask him to let you go. So please try not to doubt your place as Noctis’s friend.”

Never get tired of him.

Never stop wanting him.

Never be unworthy.

Noctis’s friend.

The hand on his head shifted to cup the back of his neck. The gentle pull led him to lean on a warm sturdy form. The tears wouldn’t stop and he wasn’t scolded for making too much trouble and fingers stroked his hair and rubbed his back and Prompto just let himself cry. He couldn’t do anything else, not with the revelations spinning in his head, each word ringing true-true-true.

Later he would apologize over the tear and snot wet spot on the King’s jacket. The monarch would chuckle and reassure it was fine and limp across the room to get them more water.

Later he would talk to Noctis. First there would be general glad you’re alive with the woozy prince. Then in the coming days they would speak of the gifts and the watching and where things would go from there.

Later he would get pulled aside by intimidating but secret softy Gladiolus and on the mend but insisting he could work Ignis. There would be candid discussions about Vows and Bonds including patiently talking him through at least one panic attack.

Now Prompto just let himself cry into the arms of the King Titled by the astrals themselves as The Father and let himself dare to hope.

* * *


End file.
